


i’m no more a sinner than any man here (i’m no less a saint than the priest at god’s ear)

by taare



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, Idiots in Love, egregious comma overuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taare/pseuds/taare
Summary: Or: Five times Amelia and Violet don’t say, “I love you” (and one time they do)





	i’m no more a sinner than any man here (i’m no less a saint than the priest at god’s ear)

one.

Amelia’s not sure what possesses her to accept Violet’s invitation to share a meal — perhaps it’s the long hours she’s been spending preaching outside Margaret Wells’ door, or the possibility of finally understanding what brings women to sell themselves in this way. Either way, Amelia finds herself in the surprising position of breaking bread with a harlot, and she’s fairly certain her mother would not approve.

Miss Cross startles her out of her reverie. “You going to try and save my soul?” she asks, regarding Amelia, still chewing, but smiling at Amelia’s distraction.

Amelia stares back at Miss Cross, then shakes her head and looks down. Ponders for a beat. “This is such a sinful world,” she replies, finally. Knows it’s a sideways answer to an easy enough question, and she’s not sure what it is about Miss Cross that renders her unable to answer in the affirmative. Will Miss Cross think Amelia believes her to be too far gone to be saved?

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs saving,” says Miss Cross quietly, her gaze towards Amelia unwavering. Amelia doesn’t look up.

She’s almost grateful for the distraction when Betsey declares Violet is needed at Mrs. Wells’ house, but is chagrined when she moves to stand up. “You’re leaving?” Amelia says quickly, hoping to coax her to stay a little longer.

“The wages of sin don’t earn themselves,” she declares, and Amelia can see it already — another person is about to leave her sitting alone, apart from crowd, always the odd one out in her modest garb with her mother by her side.

Until — “you want to see my world, Scanwell’s daughter?” Amelia can forgive that she’s once again been reduced to her mother’s puppet — though in Violet’s eyes, she probably deserves it — in favor of the fact that Violet has invited her to see her again, at some party taking place in the underworld? Amelia isn’t sure. But it’s Violet, and Amelia feels a strange compulsion to ensure she doesn’t disappoint her — if she can determine a way to convince her mother to stay inside tonight... she nods hesitantly.

—-

Mother, of course, was unconvinced. Someone (doubtless, Lydia Quigley) had let slip to her that there was an especially debauched gathering tonight, and had installed herself on Greek Street as guests began petering through the doors. Amelia resigns herself to another night in the cold, her ailing mother leaning against her arm for balance, when she spots Violet in the shadows.

“I have come to preach in your stead,” the man with the painted face declares, and helps Amelia bundle her mother back inside the small house across the street. She spies Violet covering her eyes with a mask blood red and trimmed with gold, presenting another in virginal white with ruby lips for her partner in crime.

“You could almost be one of us,” says Violet, smiling genuinely and admiring her handiwork. Amelia slips on her hood. Now, she is no longer Amelia Scanwell, daughter of the notorious Greek Street preacher, girl who makes harlots and culls repent for their sins. Instead, she is Violet Cross’ _friend_ (she’s never had one of those), visiting Hades for an evening of delight and revelry.

In the safety of an upstairs room, she removes her mask at Violet’s suggestion. Amelia isn’t quite sure what Violet is holding until she reaches her hand to Amelia’s mouth, which she obediently opens, rounding her lips around the shell and sucking. She is rewarded instantly with a sharp, savory taste, cool and wet, coating her mouth and dribbling down her lips. She moves to wipe it with her hands and adjusts her seat, the atmosphere of the evening soaking into her skin and emboldening her to sit even closer to Violet.

“There’s a story about a feast in hell,” she begins, acutely aware of Violet’s proximity as she recounts the parable. “They don’t figure out that they can feed each other,” she concludes, and Violet is still staring at her, perhaps more intently than she was at the pub. Amelia cannot decipher her expression, the darkened lighting in the room failing to fully illuminate Violet’s eyes. She fiddles with the ribbons in her hand unconsciously, wracking her brain for something to fill the silence.

Violet then leans forward across the small gap between them, presses her mouth against Amelia’s, and suddenly Violet is kissing Amelia, Violet is _kissing_ Amelia, Violet is kissing _Amelia_.

Amelia pulls away, raises her hand to lips sticky with seafood and Violet. Runs and runs, doesn’t look back. She should never have come to this wretched house tonight — for while dancing with the devil in the underworld, she feels the pandemonium that has been unleashed within.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a desperate lack of fics featuring these two idiots in love (and for Harlots in general!) so I decided to write what I didn’t see. 
> 
> Using this fic to dust off my writing chops so updates will be sporadic at best. Praise be to the rest of you who have done god’s work in writing for these two so far!


End file.
